


Bits of Angst and Fluff

by hgb



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Artist Hamid, Fluff and Angst, Gen, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgb/pseuds/hgb
Summary: A place to drop little tiny bits of RQG fic while I practice writing more.Chapter 10: Love guide you home when you're wandering - Zolf meets Feryn in the afterlife.
Comments: 111
Kudos: 92





	1. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A table of contents because I need organization:  
> Chapter 1: Homecoming - Hamid visits his family in Season 4.  
> Chapter 2: Small Hours - Artist Hamid: A quiet night at the inn post Shoin mission (written before 147).  
> Chapter 3: Waiting - Wilde waits for the team to return from Shoin’s Institute.  
> Chapter 4: Little Wonders - Artist Hamid: Azu and Cel’s wedding.  
> Chapter 5: He Knows - Wilde’s thoughts around episode 80-81.  
> Chapter 6: Twists and Turns of Fate - Artist Hamid: 40 years after Sasha disappears in Rome, Hamid finds her and brings her memories of her friends.  
> Chapter 7: Deceive My Way Straight to Demise - Wilde snippets set in Damascus arc.  
> Chapter 8: A New Day - Conversation between Hamid and Wilde post episode 150.  
> Chapter 9: A Kindly Ear - The difficulties of a perfectly professional Meritocratic handler attempting to manage a chaotic team.  
> Chapter 10: Let love guide you home when you're wandering - Zolf meets Feryn in the afterlife.

Hamid hesitates outside the door...he didn’t tell anyone he was coming. Einstein offered to bring him and he needed to see them, needed to know for certain they were alright. He’s afraid to knock. Will Saira be angry with him? Ishaq’s kidnapping was his fault and it took so long to bring him home. 18 needless months of grief because of him. He takes a shaky breath, raises his hand, and the door swings open before he can knock. Saira stands there breathless, tears streaming down her face with a smile of pure sunshine beaming at him. She pulls him into her arms, laughing through her tears, brimming with joy. He barely hears her words through the overwhelming sense of relief but the most important things come through. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe.” 

“I love you.” 

“You brought him back. You saved him.” 

“I’m so proud of you.” 

“I love you.” 

Twin footsteps pound down the stairs, and two pairs of arms wrap around his waist from behind. Tears stream down his face but for once they’re tears of joy, not sorrow. They are safe. He is home. He is loved.


	2. Small Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Shoin Institute mission, the team has a quiet night and Hamid sketches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time in the RSB server, I accidentally fell into a fluff spiral and suggested Artist!Hamid. 
> 
> This one is all for you, Babs. Thanks for bringing me into RQG, welcoming me into the server, encouraging my liveblogging, lovingly giving me shit, bapping me for my angst crimes, and encouraging my fluff. I hope this makes you smile.

Hamid’s pencil moves across the page, recording the quiet scene before him. The rain pours down on the rooftop and the wind howls fiercely outside, but sheltered in the warm interior of the inn, everything is calm. 

Azu sits comfortably curled in a blanket with a book in her lap, eyes eagerly racing across the pages. He can’t help rolling his eyes at the title, “With the Passion of the Son,” one of Zolf’s beloved Harrison Campbell novels. The cover is well worn and Hamid can’t comprehend how anyone could read the book more than once, or even go beyond the first chapter, but one look at Azu’s enthralled face and he keeps his comments to himself. He’s learned that no literary debate is worth tarnishing the joy of a friend. 

A steady stream of chatter pours from the corner as Cel and Skraak tinker away. They’re working up some new potion formula. Cel’s hands wave in excitement, eyes wide with discovery and Skraak is gesturing to haphazard notes scattered across the floor. Hamid only hopes they don’t explode part of the inn when they try to brew it up. His heart twists slightly, remembering a quiet, dark form in the corner of his London apartment, head bent over in concentration as she reverse engineered the bombs that would later save all their lives. 

“Michael, how could you?!” Azu’s frustrated cry brings his eyes back to her, and the clattering in the kitchen suddenly stills as a thumping gait quickly approaches. Zolf emerges, wiping his hands on an apron, and eagerly leans over Azu’s shoulder. He’s been in and out all evening, splitting his time between preparing a few new recipes for dinner and providing commentary to Azu at every plot twist. 

Something shifts in the corner of Hamid’s eye, and he turns his head to spot Wilde, leaning quietly in the doorway of his makeshift office, eyes trained on Zolf and Azu. His lips shift into that quirked, imperfect smile as Zolf enthusiastically discusses Michael’s latest character development. He’s not there long, but long enough for Hamid to capture his presence before he slips back into his office to pour over the paperwork from Shoin’s institute.

Hamid sketches every detail possible, freezing the moment in time, saving it with so many others. Little pieces of light that he turns to on darker nights. After all, he’s learned that life is made from small hours of joy, little wonders worth holding onto, fragments of hope worth fighting for, and he’ll record every moment of happiness they’re given.

Later, he opens the sketchbook intending to add a few finishing touches to the page and he stops, staring at the scene he recorded. At the time, putting lines to paper, it hadn’t struck him as strange, but as he looks at them now he realizes...there’s an unfamiliar softness in Wilde’s eyes and expression. Cel’s delighted grin and the gleeful spark of joy in Skraak’s eyes as they plot in the corner are new to him. There’s a gently teasing quirk to Zolf’s smile that he hasn’t seen since those early days with Sasha. And as his eyes shift to Azu, there’s a smile on her face that he hasn’t seen since before Rome. For the first time in weeks, it reaches her eyes and her whole form is alight with joy. Hamid wipes away a tear before it can mark the page and tucks the sketchbook away, a smile crossing his face as well. No one can say what tomorrow will bring, but tonight...tonight they are at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie, thanks for suggesting Little Wonders as a Hamid song. I ended up referencing it because I had it on repeat while writing. <3 
> 
> Anna, Redd, and everyone else who encouraged me to write, thank you so much. Putting words on paper is very new and terrifying, and I’m so grateful for your encouragement.


	3. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilde waits for the team to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you send people that you have any fondness for into a life-threatening situation? Especially when you're sending them on their own and the only thing you can do is wait for them to come back.

Wilde paces the floor of his makeshift office, running through every detail he knows about Shoin’s institute, planning for exit strategies, alternate options, worst case scenarios. They should have reached the institute by now, with any luck. Carter and Barnes return in two days, if all goes wrong, the B-Team will be prepared in less than a week for a second attempt. 

He’s not worried that it will go wrong. He’s just strategizing, plans B-Z formulating in his head. It’s a mission like any other. He’s run a hundred like this. It’s a dangerous business and losing people is part of the job. He’s used to losing people. Caring is a luxury he cannot afford. He’s not worried. 

There’s a knock at the door. It’s late, everyone should be asleep. Wilde opens it to find the innkeeper standing there with a mug of tea. 

“Your friend, Zolf, he asked me to bring this and tell you to get some sleep if you were still awake.” 

He takes the tea, cups his hands around the steaming mug, feels the warmth seep into his fingers. Perhaps he should sleep...for an hour or two. He’ll be of more use if he sleeps. They need him to provide a distraction, to clear the exit. They’ll reach the exit. They’ll come back.

He’s not worried.

The tea goes cold.


	4. Little Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamid paints a wedding. Artist Hamid Part Two.

Hamid settles the canvas onto his easel and starts preparing his paints. Scattered around the room, dozens of reference sketches show the heart of what he wants to capture. Azu’s glowing smile as she stands with Emeka at her side, the tears glittering in Cel’s eyes, they’re speechless for once, Zolf there beside them with an unrestrained grin, Skraak tossing flower petals to the wind, Wilde’s soft expression, eyes warm, mid-song. 

Hamid surveys all of them, captured in quick strokes but showing everything that truly matters. He takes a breath, picks up his brush, and begins.

Later, he stands before the painted canvas, finally satisfied that every detail is correct. There’s only one more thing to be done. He painstakingly makes a smaller, more easily transportable copy, collects several of the best reference sketches, and adds them to a quickly growing collection of little wonders, frozen in time. He needs to preserve every detail possible to aid in the re-telling of this story. 

Sasha and Grizzop will want to know everything.

* * *

He carefully lifts the cloth covering the painting and Azu gasps softly. Captured on canvas, Cel and Azu stand, hands clasped, Azu’s head bent and Cel’s upturned, faces close together, surrounded by those they love and those who love them. 

“Oh Hamid…”

He’s wrapped in warm large arms in an instant.

“Little buddy...it’s...it’s…”

For the second time, he sees Cel lost for words, the first being when they’d glimpsed Azu walking towards them in her dazzling pink wedding gown. 

Azu reaches out and then they’re all three tangled up together, hearts and eyes overflowing with joy.


	5. He Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilde in Prague, episodes 80-81.

Wilde’s eyes settle on Hamid and the missing space at his side. “Where’s the big one?”

A sharp bitterness fills Hamid’s voice. “Come on, you probably already know. He’s dead. Thanks.”

Of course he knows. He knows Bertie is dead, just like he knows Aziza is dead, just like he knows Zolf left them behind, just like he knows the lines of tension and grief written on Hamid’s face. Emotions churning, too much in too little time, it all needs somewhere to go. Wilde adds a touch of calculated condescension to his tone, and Hamid snaps like a frayed string. 

Good. Let him channel some of that grief into frustrated anger and push it outwards, better that it be directed toward Wilde than one of his friends, or towards himself. He’ll need his friends. And Wilde needs him to find Liliana. 

* * *

Frustration fills Sasha’s voice. “How did you get out of Paris, even? And you turn up so late that it’s not even helpful.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is getting from Paris to…”

He cuts himself off. There’s no need to detail his journey, limping on a twisted ankle through rain-slicked streets crawling with more of Gourmande’s men than ants in an anthill. Sasha doesn’t need to know the sickening helplessness he felt, alone, without a weapon, out of spells, out of time, unable to sleep for fear of being found. He keeps it to himself, eyeing the unnatural pallor of her skin. The difficulty of the trip is irrelevant. He knows Sasha has far greater concerns right now. 

* * *

“Where is my sister’s body? Is it…I need to take it back to my parents.”

Grief and desperation again shift Hamid’s focus from the mission. A softer tone, that’s what he needs now. Wilde tells him everything he knows. She’s in the care of her husband, the family already notified, and Hamid calms, giving a heavy sigh of relief. The time it took to learn Aziza’s fate before coming here was well spent. At least her body isn’t lying cold and alone in an empty room like Bertie’s. 

He won’t tell Hamid everything he learned. He won’t tell him of the eyewitnesses held in the grip of Kafka’s spell, won’t tell him of the bargain offered, the choking form, the sudden nod, and Kafka’s mocking, “No.” It’s irrelevant, unhelpful, unnecessary detail. It’s not that he cares...it’s _not_. Hamid just doesn’t need to know. Not now. Wilde knows he’ll never tell him. 

* * *

Wilde leans over his coffee, a pun here, a bit of innuendo there, and Sasha’s eyes roll. Good. Keep it light, wait, no...he’s wrong-footed it somewhere, too dismissive, too condescending, as heat fills Grizzop’s voice and his eyes narrow. 

Hamid’s tone is almost as flippant as his. “You will quickly find that the worst part about working with Oscar Wilde is just how annoying he is.” 

Sasha pipes up quickly. “The best part of working with Oscar Wilde is…”

“He’s not there very much.” 

She nods, and says, “And he makes all of the violence, loss, and trauma actually seem pretty mild in comparison.”

Grizzop looks at Wilde in satisfaction. “I like these ones, they’re funny.”  
He forces a smile to the forefront, lighthearted and uncaring, their opinions of him irrelevant as always. He can see the bonds of friendship growing, a camaraderie found in unity against him. Good. Together, they may survive Newton’s study.

* * *

He leaves them with a final quip at the door of Newton’s study and begins wandering back to his office, but ears trained to catch quiet whispers catch Sasha’s comment.

“No, I think, I think you’re right. I think he really hates being himself. Look at him. Look at him go, that frozen smile.”

 _Fuck._ He thought he’d done well. A touch of makeup, a bit of magic, a mask now more familiar than his true self. Why can she see through it now? Why does she _know_?   
  
“Get some sleep, Oscar!” Hamid calls after him, tone casual and friendly, and _false_.

Wilde turns and winks. “Knew you cared.”

He knows they don’t. He _knows_. It’s fine. It’s better this way. This is what he wanted...isn’t it?

He walks briskly towards his borrowed office. In Zolf’s absence, Sasha’s illness has progressed more quickly than he anticipated. They’ll be heading to Cairo next. Hamid’s family is there, and a temple of Aphrodite as well. He needs to write a letter to Apophis. He needs another cup of coffee. 

Hamid is right. He needs to sleep. 

_Why can’t he sleep?_

He doesn’t _know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."  
> Atticus Finch - To Kill a Mockingbird


	6. Twists and Turns of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artist Hamid, part three. Nearly forty years after losing Sasha and Grizzop in Rome, Hamid finds her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my love letter to RQG and all the friends I've made in the RQG community. I never had the courage to write before this podcast happened to me. I never thought I was good enough until I met everyone in the Red String Brigade. Thank you for encouraging me to create. Thank you Anna for lending me inspiration from your fic about Zolf showing Sasha the stars. <3

They saved the world, they saved each other, they found hope, joy, love, home, and family. A happy ending no one saw coming and yet something still remained out of reach. Two things, two people, two empty chairs reserved at weddings, two quiet toasts raised at every reunion. They tried. They all tried. Curie provided the promised resources and they tried.

The years ticked by, one, two, five, ten...and Hamid never gave up. He refused to give up. Twenty. On the twentieth anniversary of their catastrophic planar shift, Azu found Hamid weeping in his study, clutching a sketch of Grizzop. The goblin subtly blocking the door of Eren Fairhand’s office, looking toward Sasha with a concerned expression as she stood there stiffly, eyes closed, with the Heart of Aphrodite around her neck. Azu quickly stepped across the floor, wrapped him in her arms, and they wept together.

“Time could be altered where they are, Azu, Newton’s study in reverse. Maybe, maybe it’s only been a month for them. He could still be out there with her.”

“Maybe. Maybe he is.” She tugs him closer and wipes away the tears from both their faces. “Either way, you know he wouldn’t want us to spend too much time mourning him.” A soft smile crosses her face as she settles a bottle of orcish moonshine on the desk. “Remember when we got absolutely sloshed in Cairo?” 

He chuckles softly, leaning against her shoulder. Time soothed the memory of that day and now he can appreciate the hilarity of finding them drinking orcish moonshine and engaging in knife tricks while the rest of his family mourned upstairs. 

“Yes. Yes, I sketched it! Here.”

He pulls himself free and moves across the room to the folders full of sketches that he’s saved for Sasha and...and just for Sasha now. There it is…Sasha staring upwards at the daggers she’d accidentally thrown into the expensive ceiling mural. Azu leaning back comfortably on two chaise lounges and cradling the unconscious halfling servants on her lap. Grizzop holding a bottle of moonshine, gesticulating wildly as he explained the situation. 

Azu fetches a couple of glasses, and they drink, and laugh, and cry, and remember. 

Thirty years pass, and then thirty-five, and Hamid sits across from Cel at Azu’s bedside. She cups his face in her palm and presses a stack of letters into his hands. “You’re going to find her someday, Hamid. Give her these when you do.” 

“I will, I will, I promise, Azu.” 

She beams at him, her smile undimmed by age. “I know you will.”   
  


* * *

  
It took so much longer than he wanted, but Hamid found her, just as he always knew he would. He found her and he found a way to get to her. He knows what she’s built with the villa, the children, her business. He knows she’s happy there, surrounded by family and friends that she’s made over decades. It’s more her home than London ever was. She’ll have no interest in returning with him, but he needs to see her. He needs to say the goodbye fate denied him, needs to bring her Azu’s letters, needs her to know that they never stopped trying, that they never abandoned her. He gathers the sketches and daggers he’s collected for her over the years, and begins his preparations.  
  


* * *

  
It’s Zolf who he tells first. 

“I wish I could bring you too, Zolf. I tried to find a way, but…”

“No, no, it’s alright, Hamid.” Zolf sighs quietly before he continues. “She might not want to see me again anyway.” 

“Zolf…”

“I left her behind, Hamid. She was sick, and scared, and I promised I’d be there, and then I abandoned her, yeah? And...look, just...here…” 

He fetches a thick envelope and presses it into Hamid’s hands. “Give her that, alright? And this too, I got Cel to help with it.” It’s a dagger, with a compass neatly embedded in the hilt. 

Hamid takes the letter and dagger, and Zolf leans forward and wraps his arms around him. 

“Look, I know this is dangerous, Hamid, so just...look after yourself, yeah?”   
  


* * *

  
“Traveling through time. Are you sure this will work?” 

He looks up from curating his collection of sketches and sees Wilde leaning against the doorframe with a thick leatherbound book tucked under his arm. 

“Of course I’m sure it will work, I’ve spent years working on this, Oscar. How many times have we done the impossible?”

Wilde nods, stepping into the room to set the book beside the sketches on the desk. 

“Take this with you then. I hope you have the ** _time_** of your life.” Hamid groans, but the weakness of the pun betrays how concerned Wilde is for his safety. 

Wilde reaches out and takes Hamid’s hand in both of his, clasping it firmly for a moment. “Good luck, Hamid. Make sure you come back.” 

He knows the book a gift for Sasha and not intended for his eyes, but he falls to the irresistible temptation of curiosity shortly after Wilde leaves. He opens it and finds a carefully folded letter tucked inside the cover, and page after page of handwritten puns.   
  


* * *

  
Cel surprises him one day, bursting into the office like a whirlwind. 

“Hey little buddy! Take a look at this, let me know what ya think! Think she’ll like it? I think she’ll like it.” 

They press an intricate belt into his hands, pushing a set of goggles higher up on their head. “It’s a bit of science, a bit of magic, magitek really. See, the daggers go here, it can hold, like, eight of them, and after you throw ‘em, they just go “poof” and come right back to it.” 

He examines the belt in awe. “Cel, it’s perfect! She’ll love this.”

“I know I didn’t know her, but with everything you, and Azu, and Zolf were always saying about her, I feel like I do a little. And she looked after you all, and now I’ve looked after you all, and you’ve looked after me and I wanted to thank her for that.”

Hamid throws his arms around their waist and holds on tightly. “I wish you could have met her. She’d love you as much as we do.”   
  


* * *

  
There’s one final thing to do before he leaves. He buys a bottle of orcish moonshine and travels to a quiet piece of earth. It’s beautiful here...peaceful. He bends and grasps a handful of dirt, letting it trickle through his fingers. 

“I did it, Azu. I did it. I found her.” A warm breeze ruffles through his hair, wrapping him in its embrace, drying the tears upon his cheeks. He smiles. “I’ll bring her your love.”   
  


* * *

  
He does. After their reunion, after tears of joy and a lasting hug, he gives her all of their gifts and watches her delight as she tosses the daggers, tests the belt Cel designed, and laughs long and loud over the first few of Wilde’s puns. He gives her Azu’s stack of letters, and she tucks them away carefully, to be read on another day. He gives her Zolf’s letter, but this one...this one she needs to read now and he knows it. 

She slips away to read it alone and as he waits in her office he pulls out his sketchbook intending to record this room, this piece of her life, and then stops, staring at the walls. In all the excitement of seeing her again, he’d missed something. Hanging on the walls are three familiar pictures. 

There’s a portrait of the two of them in Prague. Hamid had spotted a street artist during their restaurant tour and although Sasha protested the idea at first, she asked to keep the drawing afterward. 

Over the fire hangs a picture of Paris as seen from a rooftop and to one side sits a gargoyle gazing out at the city. On the airship to Prague, he asked Sasha to describe every detail of the skyline from the roof of La Triomphe. From her description and his own memories, he painted the view and gave it to her afterward. She’d tucked the painting into her bag of holding and carried it with her all the way to Rome.

And there across from him, a rough unfinished sketch that he barely remembers. Sasha waving about at the top of a mast on a tiny boat, a gleeful grin upon her face, Zolf holding tightly to the rudder, and Hamid clinging desperately side. He’d started to draw the scene in their Paris hotel room and then it disappeared. He’d wondered briefly what had happened to it, and now, thousands of years and hundreds of miles away, he knows.   
  


* * *

  
Sasha returns with red-rimmed eyes. She’s written a letter of her own, this one a little shorter than Zolf’s. 

He tucks it away and then reaches into his bag again, pulling out stack after stack of paper. Sketches spill all across her desk, a record of the memories they’d shared from London to Rome. There’s Gragg proudly serving his eel keesh. Sasha standing with Zolf’s jacket over her head outside of Kew Gardens, discomfort written on her face as she hides from the open space around her. The Soggy Row in Dover, featuring the Soggy Cabin Boy, a rain-drenched man selling eels and questionable shrimp on the street corner. Zolf and Hamid showing her how to eat prawns in the Soggy Admiral. Sasha, face filled with righteous fury, flicking daggers across a training yard in the rain, with Zolf’s trident leaning against the wall and Barnes standing behind her uncomfortably.

“He was tryin’ to tell me that Zolf wasn’t a good man, but I sure told him what was what.”

Hamid smiles, handing her the next drawing. Zolf on the deck of their tiny driftwood boat in the center of the storm, flinging his trident into the sea with desperation written on his face as he screams up at the furious sky. Neatly scrawled across the bottom of the drawing are the words Sasha never heard him say. “Take me! Don’t take her!” 

There’s Zolf and Sasha, sitting together on the sand as Zolf points up toward the stars. Doris and Sandra, in goggles, and furs, and outrageous hats, racing each other from Calais to Paris. The dire lobster feast in their Paris hotel room, and Zolf creating water over Wilde’s head. There’s a scene cast in darkness of Sasha with daggers drawn, outlined only by the glow of her leather jacket, ready to protect Hamid from a monster she couldn’t even see. And then she sees Hamid, running, outlined in the light of a billboard above him that reads, “Look after her for me.” 

“Brock, he told me that I didn’t get to give up. He said you needed me. So...I didn’t.” 

There’s Sasha at the controls of the airship with the biggest grin across her face, Zolf in an armchair reading “When Passions Collide.” He drew the view from the airship of the floating University of Prague, and the city down below, and then there’s the row of crumbling manor houses where they fought a wraith together. 

He hands her the next drawing from his pile, and her breath catches. An odd piece of art without context, a massive table stands towering in the distance with two small forms facing it, their bodies seemingly out of proportion with the room around them. It’s Newton’s Study, and Grizzop stands beside her on the page looking up with a shit eating grin across his face, hands mid-gesture. She sees herself looking back at him, amused, and at the bottom of the page in flowing script, “something that starts with L.” She remembers the anxiety she’d felt, standing in that endless flat expanse, no walls to press her back against, only wide open space. She remembers the game, Grizzop’s idea, the distraction of it pulling her thoughts back into something harmless, something fun. Sasha lets out a choked sob, and Hamid looks at her in alarm. 

“Sasha? Are you..” He’s cut off as, for the third time in his life, Sasha pulls him into an unexpected hug. 

“It...it’s been so long and I didn’t, I didn’t have anything, nothing to remember him by...I couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember what he...gods, look at him.” 

Hamid touches the page, looking down at the cryptic sentence. “I couldn’t remember the answer.” 

“Lamp.” It’s still as clear to her as yesterday. “It was the lamp.” 

She flips through the stack of drawings. There are so many. Grizzop firing his bow at zombies the day they first met. Einstein absently clicking his fingers as a chair vanishes from beneath Grizzop’s form. Azu in glowing pink armor standing beside Topaz T. Camel. A cavernous room, with a group of small figures standing before one of the most powerful beings in the world, insisting that her life was worth saving. Grizzop teaching the twins how to shoot his bow with a patience he rarely exhibited. The goblin from Clank’s, holding out an adamantine dagger. Azu throwing herself out of a carriage and everyone else moving to follow. Grizzop, holding his bow and gazing up at the moon, a moment of calm as he kept watch over their camp outside Damascus. Wilde looking at Sasha with a small approving grin as she gestures, mid-speech, and written at the bottom “You should be adamantine with them that it was not really a dragon.” Angry tears in Grizzop’s eyes, memory both painful and heartwarming all at once. Grizzop, bow drawn, standing beside Azu and Hamid, all three with icy glares directed at Eldarion. All of them sitting around a fire, eating stew and drinking wine shortly before that fateful planeshift.

Scenes follow that she lacks context for but with every one Hamid tells another story. He tells her about the return from Rome, about the week in a cell, about Zolf and his new legs, Wilde and his new scar. She laughs about Carter and scowls slightly the first time he mentions Barnes’ name. He tells her about Cel and their love of bombs and potions and Azu. He tells her about Skraak. He shares every moment of joy and even some moments of sorrow. He tells her how they saved the world together. And then he reaches for the last and largest pile. 

“Here. You saved our lives so many times, Sasha. I wanted you to see everything you saved.”

For the last four decades, Hamid prepared for this moment. He shows her images of Zolf and Wilde, their dogs across the years, and their cottage by the sea. He shows her Azu and Cel, and the life they shared together. He shows her Skraak. He shows her the families they all built, he shows her the children and the new world they were raised in. He traveled the world, painted the skylines of London, Dover, Paris, Prague, Cairo, and Damascus. He recorded every special event, every birthday party, every reunion, every wedding. Through a thousand images spanning multiple decades, he shows her the world she helped them save and her lasting impact on all of their lives.

And at the end of it all, he shows her his wings, and together _they fly.  
  
_

* * *

  
He spends all of his remaining time capturing as much of her life as possible on paper. She shows him everything, introduces him to everyone, and he covers page after page. He sketches all of the children, dashing about the grounds, practicing maneuvers, climbing, jumping, playing. There’s Cicero, an old man now, sitting by the fire. There’s the villa and its surroundings, the details of Sasha’s office, and all the friends and family that surround her. Most of all he draws her, vibrant, happy, and alive. There’s a freedom in her movements that he’s never seen before, an easy confidence and a lighthearted smile. 

He tries to capture it all on paper in colors and lines. She’s happy, healthy, and thriving, and Zolf needs to see it.  
  


* * *

  
Time ticks by so quickly, and he knows he’ll need to leave soon but Sasha says there’s one final thing he needs to see. She leads him outside and carefully climbs up a ladder onto a rooftop. They lean against the chimney and gaze out at the stars together. She’s still clutching Zolf’s letter in her hands. 

“I bring all the kids up here, especially when they’re new, show ‘em the stars, helps them get their bearings, right? Zolf, he...he showed them to me, after the channel, showed me the North Star, showed me how to find my way. He said ‘you can’t really be lost if you know which way you’re going,’ and I…”

She pauses, struggling slightly with the words even after all this time. “After Grizzop, finding my way out of Rome with Cicero...I didn’t know where I was, right? Rome, I could figure a little of that from seeing what I did of our Rome, but outside it, I didn’t know where I was. But I knew where north was...I knew which way to go. And these kids, they all know where north is too. Would you, would you tell him that, Hamid? Tell him I wasn’t ever lost. And none of them will be either. And tell him...tell him thanks.”   
  


* * *

  
Hamid tells him. He brings Zolf a painting of Sasha in warm colors, smiling as she juggles her new daggers for a group cheering children, the lines on her face showing a life well-lived and full of joy. He gives him Sasha’s letter. He watches as Zolf’s eyes fill with tears, and a soft smile crosses his face, and he doesn’t need to read the letter to know what she said. And, as Zolf pulls him into a tight hug, he tells him about the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our lives are made  
> In these small hours  
> These little wonders  
> These twists and turns of fate  
> Time falls away  
> But these small hours  
> These small hours still remain


	7. Deceive My Way Straight to Demise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from Wilde's perspective during the Damascus arc.

Wilde leans against his desk, staring at the papers covering every surface in his temporary office. His thoughts are muddled, a haze of exhaustion obscuring the path forward. It’s too much. He won’t have enough time for this. He can’t do this alone. But there’s no one else he trusts inside these walls. The first hints of dawn brighten the sky and he rubs his eyes wearily. He needs to eat but the thought of food prompts a wave of nausea. He should try to sleep. How long will he manage this time before nightmares wake him with his own screams? Twenty minutes, thirty if he’s lucky? His throat still aches from the last attempt.

A steady knocking pulls him from his thoughts, a guard insisting that visitors are waiting for him. It’s urgent. A halfling and an orc, they said they couldn’t wait. Hamid and Azu. Hopefully they’ve found something more useful than the reams of paperwork from Rachet.

He downs the cup of cold coffee resting on the desk and heads for the stairs. He’s nearly to the door when he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror and stops short. He looks like death. A quick click of the fingers, one of the few vestiges of magic remaining within his grasp, and he shifts into a mask of exasperated anger like a second skin. Remembering the administrative nightmare in his office helps.

* * *

Wilde slams the door, leaving Hamid and Azu behind. Why? Why now? Everything he knows, everything he relied on, all shaken apart over the last few weeks and now this? A factory full of simulacra. Guarded by monsters of pure evil. The Meritocracy infiltrated by the Racketts. Infiltrated by the Cult of Hades. He had his suspicions, but still...there’s so much to do. So many questions. So many loose ends and he doesn’t have  _ time. _ Focus. Focus on the mission at hand. Gods, he’s so tired. 

_ “We’ve been up all night, it’s been a long day if I’m honest. But we’re gonna get back to it!” _

Really, Hamid? Really? Try a week and then see how smug you can be. He forces back the bitterness with a ragged sigh. None of this is Hamid’s fault. He still remembers the friendly hand extended to him on that airship. His kindness may be the result of good manners rather than actual friendship, but Hamid rarely strikes back even when Wilde pushes every button. Despite everything, there's a determined goodness in him that refuses to die. 

If Wilde asked for help...a foolish thought, any delay in the mission could spell catastrophe at this stage, but he knows Hamid would help. He’d try at least. He’d call it the right thing to do, drag his friends with him, attempt to save one life without thinking of the cost. Wilde knows the stakes, knows the cost, knows the price of hesitation, inaction, distraction. Sacrifice a few to save the many, he’s made that call before. It’s no different now. He knows he’s expendable. The mission comes first. Always.

He pulls a potion from his coat, downs it quickly, and feels his exhaustion slowly recede to a manageable level. He’ll need to move quickly. The duration of the effect has been steadily decreasing after each repeated dose. He needs a teleport to Apophis. Keep moving. Stay focused. Just a little longer.

* * *

Wilde’s vision blurs as they slowly climb toward the destroyed compound, a result of fatigue or perhaps the rippling haze rising from desert sand, he’s unsure. The heat increases as they draw closer and Hamid stops, still disheveled and sleepy, and starts casting spells on his friends. Wilde recognizes Endure Elements, a spell he never learned, something outside of his standard repertoire. He watches as the magic circling Sasha goes slightly awry and though Hamid misses the error, Grizzop pushes forward and quickly casts the spell on her again. Neither of them look toward Wilde. 

From anyone but Hamid, he’d be certain his exclusion was a deliberate slight. Careless cruelty is not what he expects from the kind hearted halfling, and between combat and lack of sleep, Hamid likely lacks the necessary magical reserves to cast the spell on a fifth person. It’s not deliberate.  _ Is it?  _ Grizzop...well, considering Grizzop’s opinion of him, Wilde can hardly blame the goblin for ignoring him. If Grizzop’s assumptions were accurate, he’d certainly be justified. Wilde never attempted to correct the error, to make amends. He never expected to need their trust this much. Perhaps it’s just as well. It won’t be for much longer. Another few days perhaps.

He continues following until they near the edge of the glassed sand. The heat becomes nearly unbearable and he stops, eyeing Grizzop briefly. He wonders if Grizzop would help if he asked. If Grizzop refused, Hamid or Azu might urge him to aid Wilde, only because it would be the right thing to do. He will not ask for help that would be given unwillingly. He draws on his nearly drained reserves of magic and a glamour settles over his form. Another mask. A careful barrier raised between them. Just a few hours until sunset. He can manage that. One foot in front of the other. 

They make camp. Wilde moves away from the group, distancing himself and settling into the shadows. He waits, feigning sleep until he can down another potion unnoticed. He can’t afford another bout of nightmares with them nearby. The screams would be difficult to explain.

* * *

He forgets to maintain the illusion in the morning and of all people, Grizzop notices. A hasty attempt at prestidigitation fails to reassure him and Grizzop won’t let it go.

“You know that ain’t healthy.”

Yes, Grizzop. That much is clear. 

“Do you want to just, maybe sit this one out, stay at the campsite, maybe just take a couple of hours off?”

He’s baffled briefly. It’s Grizzop. Their relationship could be described as antagonistic at best. Why is he even asking? Wilde tries to brush off the questions, pulls on a mask of professionalism. 

“No, I think that I should probably supervise as that’s my job.” 

Grizzop understands the importance of doing a job. Being useful. Just drop it. 

“Look, I’m not being unkind, but you look awful when you don’t have your illusion on.”

He almost seems concerned. Why? Why does he even care? It doesn’t matter, Grizzop, this isn’t your mission. Let it go.

“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground, and then you’re just gonna keel over, and you know, you could keel over in front of a manticore and then no one could save you, and then you’ll be dead.”

Ah. Yes. Finally, it begins to make sense. He’s a liability, a potential problem that Grizzop might need to deal with. Just convince him you’re still useful. 

“I think I know my own limits, thanks. Shall we go have a look?”

He does know his own limits. He knows he’s far beyond them. It doesn’t matter. He can manage. It’s only a few more hours.

* * *

“If you need anything, like, to sleep for a few days, or eat several thousand calories, I can try and help.”

Azu looks at him with genuine concern written across her face and for one weak moment, he wants to tell her. But he knows better. Sorry Azu. You have another mission, and this isn’t something you can fix. Already tried paladins and clerics from every temple in Damascus. He won’t delay the mission for another series of failed attempts to solve his worsening insomnia. It’s a waiting game now. He’s running out of time. Can’t waste his remaining hours. Wilde pours every ounce of condescension he can muster into his smile and raises his barriers again. 

“Thanks. I think I’m fine.”

Keep smiling. Just a little longer.

* * *

Wilde eats methodically, forcing down every bite and ignoring the roiling in his gut. He can’t remember the last time his stomach held more than coffee. Sasha catches his eye and nods. 

“I want to say, Wilde, uhhh, about the being alive thing. It’s, uh, good. So…thanks for your part in that. That was good.”

He looks away, the honest gratitude more uncomfortable than the blazing heat. He didn’t want this. This is exactly why he tried to hide his involvement. He built a careful distance between them with broken trust and cutting words and it’s far too late to bridge the gap. 

“It’s good to hear some  **vital** information from you.”

He watches her expression shutter, closing off, pulling back. “Yeah, well. Alright. Good. You know, I hope you enjoy being mean like that. Like, was that, was that good for you there? Being…being mean like that? I don’t…”

No. No, he stopped enjoying this facade in Paris. But it’s better this way. The first extending timbers of a shaky bridge burned with a single sentence. Neither of them can afford the weakness of attachment, not now, not at this stage. It’s too late.

* * *

Wilde feels Azu watching him and a glance at her confirms his fears. There’s barely veiled concern behind her eyes. Not good. She’s distracted, still worrying for him, allowing her mind to wander from the importance of the mission. She needs redirecting. 

He turns to puns, each more confusing and hackneyed than the last, pulling Azu’s focus from his exhausted frame into convoluted wordplay. It serves a double purpose, keeps him focused, keeps his mind here, but she genuinely questions the meaning of each pun, and he finds himself disconcerted by her reaction. 

Sasha, however, watches with a curious light in her eyes, and then begins to match his puns with her own. Is this how it could have been from the start? If he hadn’t played his games, toyed with them, treated them like the disposable assets they should have been. Once again, she’s extending a bridge across the chasm, holding out a hand to pull him to the other side. It's a weakness, he knows, but watching her laugh and her earnest excitement with every new attempted pun, he can’t find it in himself to push her away. Not again. Just for a few hours. A final indulgence. Every condemned man receives a final meal.

* * *

“Do look out for yourself, Oscar. You can’t keep going forever.”

Fireworks and false confidence. It’s the best Wilde can muster but it’s not enough. He hears Sasha as he walks away.

“I think that’s the nearest we’ll ever get to him admitting he’s not fine.”

It takes every reserve of strength and pride to keep walking. He desperately wants to turn, to ask for help. He could. They might. He’s afraid. He doesn’t want to die. He’s a coward. The mission matters more. He’s expendable. He’d be a distraction. What can they do that he hasn’t already tried? Keep walking. Focus on the mission. 

One foot in front of the other. Just eight miles down the mountain. Eight miles to the edge of Damascus. Keep walking. Just a few hours. Stay focused. Think. They’ll need the paperwork for the kill switch. It’s incomplete, but he can’t finish it. He knows that. There’s no time. He’ll need to leave instructions. Hephaestus lot. Send them there. He stumbles slightly, foot catching against a stone. Focus. Left foot. Right foot. Keep moving. There’s work to be done. It’s only eight miles. 

Hours later, dizzy and stumbling, he stops outside the Meritocratic offices and casts prestidigitation again. Breathe. Focus. Smile. Eyes straight ahead. Now walk. Right foot. Left foot. In the door, nod to the guard, up the stairs, down the hall, turn here, just a little farther, a few more steps. Close the door behind you, lean against it, sink to the floor. Breathe. Just a few minutes. Now get up. There’s work to do. Gods, he’s so tired.

* * *

_ “Will you make sure you go to sleep?” _

_ “Sure, why not?” _

He tried. Exhausted and desperate, unable to even think of the papers filling his office, he’d collapsed, hoping to sleep, perhaps just an hour, long enough to clear his head. His eyes closed and then seemingly seconds later he woke, flinging himself out of bed with a panicked cry. Now he sits on the floor, back against the wall, hands shaking. He glances at his pocket watch. Ten minutes.  _ Ten. _ He flings it across the room, glaring at his makeshift cot with venomous hatred. He wants to scream but his throat is raw. He wants to pound his fists against the floor in helpless rage. He closes his eyes against prickling heat, forcing back pointless tears. Why can’t he sleep? Why is this happening?  _ Why?  _ Stop.  _ Stop.  _ He’s wasting time. This is useless. Get up. Keep moving. There’s work to do. 

He moves toward the desk, staring blankly at the piles of paper crowding the room. 

_ “It’d be really inconvenient if you died and we had to do all the paperwork instead.” _

Yes. It would be. Sort it out. Finish this. There’s not much time.

Wilde releases a shaky breath, steadying himself against the desk. He draws on his last reserves of magic, the final spell he’s saved for a moment of pure desperation. His hoarse voice mangles the tune and he winces at the sound, but magic spreads across him and his bone-deep weariness vanishes in an instant. His mind sharp again, movements quick. 

This won’t last long. It won’t end well. Take advantage while you can. 

His flips through papers, scanning rapidly, making connections, sorting, discarding, organizing, putting together the essentials. His last gift to them. At least he can provide some direction. Who to trust? No one. Where to go? Japan? Russia? What to do? Kill switch...where are those notes? 

The first light of dawn begins to filter through the shutters. Hurry. You’re running out of time. He grasps desperately for the unfinished design of the kill switch, and the magic fades with a stinging pain.  _ Fuck. _ Where. Put it where. They need to find it. Will they search him? Grizzop. Grizzop would. Practical bastard. He tucks the papers into a pocket. 

Tired. So tired. Come on. Think. Focus.  _ Fucking think.  _ What’s next? What else? There’s more to do. He needs to...he needs...just sit. Stop for a minute. He stumbles into a chair. There’s something on his face. Wet. Dripping onto the desk. A shaking hand touches his upper lip. Red. Blood. His nose.  _ Fuck _ . There’s a muffled ringing in his ears. It’s dark. He can’t see. Light a candle. Come on. Get up. So fucking weak. Useless. Just  _ get up.  _ There’s more. There’s work. Work to be...

* * *

When Oscar Wilde first arrived in Damascus a few of the Meritocratic officials attempted to make friendly overtures. Met with distant smiles, condescension, and a wit sharper than Damascus steel, they quickly retreated, leaving him to work uninterrupted, to walk the halls alone on the rare occasions he left his office. 

No one noticed the increasing exhaustion, his haggard appearance carefully hidden under magic and sheer determination. No one heard the hoarse screams from his quarters at night on the few occasions he tried to sleep, the purchase and careful placement of a silencing charm prevented that. 

Today, no one will stop by his office for a friendly chat. No one hears his head hit the desk with a dull thud. Behind self-constructed walls and carefully closed doors, Oscar bleeds alone.


	8. A New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation between Hamid and Wilde post episode 150

Hamid looks into the darkness, listening to the repetitive crash of waves against the shore. The monotony of it should be soothing but it can’t drown out his dream. His nightmare. Fire and screams, two things now forever tied together in his memories. He relives it again and again, trying to find the alternate path, the better choice, but it always ends in flames.

He presses his face into his knees, breathing shakily, and stiffens as a quiet form settles beside him on the cold sand. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Wilde, of all people it would have to be him. Hamid steadies his breathing and resolutely ignores the bard, looking back toward the waves. 

“Bad dreams?” There’s a forced nonchalance in his tone and he waits patiently for an answer. Hamid shakes his head, hoping if he stays silent, Wilde will just leave.

He doesn’t leave. He waits, sitting silently for what feels like hours before quietly speaking again. “You did what you had to do, Hamid.”

And that is just too much. Hamid scoffs bitterly. “Did I? Are you going to try to tell me it wasn’t my fault?”

“No. No, I’m not. It doesn’t matter. You made a choice, Hamid. You needed to survive to stop Shoin and you did. You saved thousands of kobolds by doing so. You found information that may save millions of lives. We are fighting for the world, Hamid. Those are the stakes you’re dealing with here, the world or thirty kobolds. They were drugged, they were victims and innocents, but they were still going to kill you. You chose to kill them. You chose the world. You chose your friends and you finished the mission. And it doesn’t matter if you relive it a thousand times in your mind trying to find another way, an option that leaves them all alive at the end. It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t your fault. It doesn’t matter if you did it for good reasons, or if it was necessary. It doesn’t matter that you had no information or other options available to you at the time. At the end of the day, they’re still dead. You still did it. And nothing will change that. You can let that guilt eat away at your soul until there’s nothing left, or you can let it drive you to do good. You live with the memory and you keep going. We save the world. And then we get to stop fighting and we do our best to rebuild it into something better. We do our best to make it worth the cost.”

“Do you really believe that we can save the world, Oscar? That it will be worth it in the end?”

Wilde’s shoulders tense for a moment, then he lets out a breath and looks at Hamid for the first time since sitting down. There’s a weariness in his eyes but a slight smile pulls against the scar on his face. “I don’t know....but I hope. And sometimes hope is enough.”

He reaches out, settling a hand on Hamid’s shoulder and squeezing it firmly for a moment. “Don’t lose hope, Hamid.” Then, as quietly as he’d arrived, Wilde leaves.

Hamid gazes across the water as the sky slowly brightens. Golden rays filter through clouds and sparkle across the waves as the sun rises. 

He stands slowly and dusts off his clothes before heading back to the inn.

It’s a new day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write hurt/comfort. I really did. But I couldn't manage Azu or Zolf's perspective so...sorry Hamid. Have a vaguely comforting shoulder squeeze.


	9. A Kindly Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fic for Kai. We were joking in the discord about the unlikely scenario of Wilde actually having friends/coworkers and regularly bitching about the chaotic assholes he’s supposed to be handling. So, I threw this little thing together.

“I cannot believe the complete idiocy that I had to put up with today. I put them on that airship out of Paris, right? Perfectly safe, a nice leisurely trip to Prague, nothing should have gone wrong. Well, I manage to get here and Zolf's run off, Bertie's managed to not only get himself killed but Hamid’s sister as well, they've picked up some new goblin paladin that hates me, and they were all arrested by the Cult of Mars. Of course, I managed to get them all released, managed to keep Sasha from getting executed because she’s apparently undead now, and then they had the audacity to claim that I’d “shown up too late to be helpful.” I don’t know why I bother anymore, I really don’t. Just leave them to it next time. See how they like that. Nobody appreciates the work that goes into planning these little operations anymore. To top it all off, that downpour on the way out of Paris absolutely ruined my one of favorite suits, no point in even trying to salvage it. And one of my best pairs of shoes too, just an absolute disaster. Have I mentioned their new team name? London and Other London Outstanding Mercenary Group? LOLOMG? It's a terrible name. It either takes you a minute to say in full, or it sounds like you're just choking. I told Hamid it sounded punchy. I wasn’t lying. When anyone says it I feel like punching them. They’re just lucky I’m a professional.”

* * *

“So, today I tried to explain to them that the university is locked down. It’s like they don’t understand the basic concepts of security or just how straitlaced the Mars lot are. Sasha suggested jumping off the university on a glider. Just like that. As if she was talking about the weather. I mean...what the absolute fuck? “I'm good at acrobatics,” she says. I know she’s dealing with a lot, the whole “you’re undead now” concept is a bit much. But still! And now they’ve just vanished without so much as a note saying, “Oh, Wilde, we popped out for a bite to eat, be back later.” I can’t find them anywhere. They may have actually tried the glider plan, but I haven’t heard any reports of a tragic crash in the lower city yet. I’m just going to leave and meet them in Cairo, let them make their own way, I’m sure they’ll be capable of managing it. Last time I tried to arrange transportation for them it ended with me being held at gunpoint.”

* * *

“Met with Apophis today. You’d think a Meritocrat would understand the importance of keeping personnel reports confidential, but no. He goes and tells Sasha every positive thing I ever said about them. Meritocrats, just because they make the laws, they think they’re above them. My image may never recover. Of course, Hamid just couldn’t let it go and had to bring it up the second we got outside.”

* * *

“Well, today was one for the books. Getting punched in the balls by an employee is something I’ve not encountered before during my career. I suppose it was only a matter of time. Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to joke about Sasha’s resurrection, that was a bit callous of me. Still, I don’t believe it warranted quite that harsh of a reaction. Feisty bastard was probably just waiting for an excuse to hit me. Considering the state of operations right now, I should try to smooth things over. It’s not like I’ve got anyone else to back me up at this point. A bit late for that now, maybe I’ll try talking to him in Damascus. At least the day wasn’t a total loss. I did manage to swipe an excellent pen from the Tahan bank.”

* * *

“Damascus certainly didn’t go according to plan. Not like anything ever does. Grizzop left for Rome over a week ago, and I haven’t heard anything from any of them since. I wouldn’t even know where to start looking. I can’t afford to wait around here any longer, I should already be in Japan. I need help. I don’t think I can do this alone.” 

Wilde leans back in his chair, sighing softly. “What do you think?” He stares across the room into dull eyes and a face lined with fatigue. “Yeah...that’s what I thought. You never say anything useful.” 

He flings his empty coffee cup at the mirror, shattering his reflection, and begins packing his belongings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you felt a little off today  
> Had a lot to say  
> But wound up talking to yourself?  
> Have you hunted for a kindly ear  
> But couldn't find one near  
> And wound up talking to yourself?
> 
> Talking to Myself - Watsky  
>    
> ...sorry Kai. I thought about trying to make it 100% hilarious and lighthearted for about 5 minutes. But I’m nothing if not me. And I’m 98% angst. Hope it was fun anyway? Forgive me? I’ll do better next time?


	10. Let love guide you home when you're wandering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolf meets Feryn in the afterlife.

Zolf dies. 

  
But first, he lives. He finds family and holds onto them with all the strength in his body. He protects, he loves, he hopes, he dreams, and he lives. He saves the world. He builds a future. And finally, surrounded by people who love him, he dies in peace.

  
He always wondered what death would be like. He wondered what would come next, where he might go, who he might see. He finds himself standing on a grassy slope beside a beach. The ocean breeze ruffles his hair and the bluest of waves roll toward the shore.

  
A dog barks and he turns his head. Dashing across the warm white sand, a border collie chases after a stick. Grabbing it in his mouth, the collie turns and dashes back toward a form so familiar, and Zolf’s breath catches in his throat. 

  
Feryn looks up toward him and a broad smile stretches across his face. He drops the stick and he runs. For the first time in years, aches and pains of age no longer slow Zolf’s steps and he stumbles forward, unsteady at first, then ever quicker toward his brother, tears streaming down his face. 

  
He flings himself into Feryn’s arms, burying his head into his shoulder and weeps. “I--I’m so sorry.”

  
“Shhhh...it wasn’t your fault, Zolf.” Feryn moves back slightly and holds Zolf’s shoulders in a firm grip. “But I forgive you.” He pulls Zolf closer again, pressing a hand to the back of his neck as he places a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I am so proud of who you’ve become.”

  
He hugs Zolf until the tears stop and then leans down to snatch the stick from the collie circling their legs. “Come on. There’s so much more to see.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from My Brother by Misterwives.
> 
> I wrote this in twenty panicked minutes to prevent Anna from murdering me for all my Zolf & Feryn death angst. Forgive me, Anna, for my sins. I crimed Zolf but now I've helped heal him.


End file.
